Mulling things on my morning ramble
with Storm, the family's mixed Lab.
My daughter is the one who asks, ``Can we go fishing?''
I have mulled this many times, but I don't why it is our only daughter who regularly asks to go fishing.
Now, I am happy to take her. Not just happy, but sort of puffed-chest proud.
Yet, I am retro enough to sometimes wish it was my boys, at least one of them, who asks to go fishing.
All three of our boys can fish. The oldest can do it well. But it is not a consuming thing with the boys.
With Sara, it's another story.
Yesterday, she asked to go fishing on the town pond. So we did. On her first cast, she missed a bluegill. So we downsized. Then, on her second cast, she caught a good bluegill.
Then it was messing around.
She wanted to try a new spot, so we did.
Stopping of course to much on her favorite snack, a bag of Doritos. While she was casting, she described a big bass that swam by. We soon found the bed it was guarding.
Then another couple spots with little luck, so she (smartly in my view) wanted to go back to where she had caught fish at first.
And she promptly flipped a huge redear just short of the shore. We don't have many redears in the town pond, but those there tend to be good ones.
That had her going pretty good. And me, too, for that matter.
I was so wound up that I told her to set the hook too soon the next time her special bobber moved.
And she looked at me and said, ``It wasn't heavy.''
That's my girl. She's enough of a fisherman (fisher? fisherwoman?) to know when a line loads up with weight is when the hook should be set.
She caught another small bluegill.
It was time.
I was surprised to see two hours had gone by. That's a long time on a hot day for a girl who just turned 9.
Yes, I was proud and happy.